


This Way Lies Madness

by wisdomeagle



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
Genre: (Three quarters of the) Fanged Four, American Civil War, Blood, Community: buffyverse1000, Dubious Consent, M/M, Obsession, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-14
Updated: 2004-12-14
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisdomeagle/pseuds/wisdomeagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A worse punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Way Lies Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Content note: period typical heterosexism.

Angelus tired of the mad girl. Truly, he tired quickly of most things, although Darla was enough woman to last a lifetime – several, in fact. Still, a man had needs, cravings, that one woman couldn't fill. "Angelus's little obsessions," Darla called them, and she did her best to feed him what he needed – nuns, seers, prophets, rogues, whatever struck his fancy that decade. They terrorized most of Europe and occasionally made it to Africa, once to Asia. Darla didn’t take to Russia very well, although Angelus swore she was just being difficult and didn't share his taste for the cold.

They met the Butler fellow at a ball in London, or rather, Darla met him, in her usual fashion: she seduced him right off the dance floor.

"He's from the colonies, love," she told Angelus.

"They're calling it America now, I've heard," he said, not really interested in Darla's latest prize.

"He's an expatriate, a racketeer. Something with blockade-running and silks for the ladies."

"Ladies, eh?" Angelus asked, perking up.

"None here, silly. Just Rhett – he's in my bed right now, if you'd like a late-night snack. Of course, it's always possible you had something more – elaborate – in mind. There's something about a girl."

"There's always something about a girl. Well, let's have a look at the fellow, see if he's worth pursuing."

They found Rhett snoring soundly, apparently sleeping the sleep of the wicked, since no man who screwed Darla and lived could possibly be called just. Drusilla, who'd come in from her hunt, lay curled at the foot of the bed.

"Well, Dru, pet, is he worth it?"

"He's got such lovely eyes," she said. "And a pretty baby girl. Bonnie blue, bonnie blue like grandmum's eyes. Won't you play with him awhile?"

"Sure and that's what I was planning," leered Angelus. "Come to bed now, Dru, and tell us all about what you've got planned for him."

"Nothing at all. Not a thing," she said. "He's a good toy for Angelus, but not for Angelus's mummy."

"Goodnight, Dru," said Darla with failing patience, and Angelus closed his eyes and tried the scent. Cologne and brandy, blood piping hot just below the surface of his skin, and the faint smell of semen – he hadn't washed after being with Darla, but from the perfumed aroma of his clothes, he was more foppish than Darla's average gentleman caller.

He had potential. Angelus wasn't sure what kind of potential it was, though he didn't want another man about the house – too much bickering between the girls was already trying his nerves; he couldn't take the added jealousy of this Rhett wanting his share of Darla's time. Not for turning, not unless he turned out to be exceptional. But there was potential for a great game. Darla and Dru were sleeping in the master bed, two rooms down, so Angelus shook Rhett awake.

"Good evening, sir. I'm Darla's husband, and wondering what on earth you're doing in our bed?"

"Excuse me," said Rhett, sitting up, not once losing control. "I didn't realize the lady was taken. I will of course pay you whatever you deem fair for the fair woman's virtue – perhaps you're interested in a share in some Southern cotton?"

"You would be amazed, young man," said Angelus, "by the things I'm not interested in."

"Well, if you'll be needing the bed, I'll get on my way," said Rhett. 

"That will be fine, muttered Angelus, staring at Rhett's ridiculous mustache and wondering what it would feel like when Rhett was on his knees, taking Angelus in his mouth. Itchy, he would wager. "For now."

Rhett, unlike Drusilla, was an obsession that forced them to travel. It made Darla peevish, and only the promise of a lovely bloody civil war kept her from staying behind. Drusilla tagged along, muttering about slaves and widowers and katydids. The boat took ages to reach America, and though Angelus loved to hear Drusilla's prattle, it was the thought of Rhett, waiting for his touch, that kept him from throwing both his women overboard. They were a bit much to handle on long trips.

"Daddy, are we there yet?" muttered Drusilla, her eyes dangerous in the dusky light of the just-before-dawn. 

Angelus was about to slap her to shut her up when he glanced over the railing and saw that, against the odds, they finally were nearing land. "Indeed we are, my pet."

"And when we get to shore, we'll have lovely soldier boys to play with?"

"And lots of pretty dresses, the prettiest money can buy. A fine old merchant named Rhett Butler told me so himself." Hadn't recognized him outside the bedroom, and the whisky in him hadn't helped, but Rhett had been most forthcoming about his upcoming business plans.

Drusilla clapped her hands with joy, and as they retreated below decks in time to avoid the sunrise, Angelus sniffed the air. He could almost taste the war, could feel slicks of prejudice getting caught in his teeth. He couldn't wait.

Darla's "something about a girl" turned out to be an obsession that could rival his own. He respected that, and for the first time saw Rhett as someone who would be worth his time to break, someone fast enough and clever enough and with something in his blood other than frivolity and bourbon.

Watching Rhett watch Scarlett was like watching himself through a twisted mirror. Scarlett wasn't prettier than Dru, he thought, even objectively speaking, but she had a glamour about her that Drusilla never would, something that made her green eyes sparkle with glee and malice and all the world's wonderful feelings.

Angelus had to remind himself occasionally that he already had a Drusilla and that he'd come here after Rhett. Rhett, his black hair flashing with the oils he poured in it, his cane twirling with sophisticated charm, asked Scarlett, dressed in widow's weeds, to dance. Angelus was primed, could feel both hearts race a little faster, could feel the blood pumping in them.

He could feel that Scarlett didn't want to be as excited as she was, that her blush was genuine. He could feel it and smell it, and knew that Darla, standing next to him, could smell it too, would know what it meant to him. Sexual energy surging through the room. It tasted divine.

"Well, love, how about tonight?"

"Tonight," Angelus whispered, "will be his last night."

Darla shrugged off Angelus's drama and said, "You'll be home late, then? I'll find someone nice and ripe for me and the crazy girl to share."

"You do that," said Angelus, not taking his eyes off Rhett.

He confronted him in a pub later that night, ordering him his next drink and inviting him to share his pain. Angelus loved pain.

As usual, Rhett didn't recognize him, and that was really beginning to annoy Angelus. Feared, loved, hated, despised -- those he could cherish, but forgotten was not his strong suit. Still, he listened to Rhett's speech about Scarlett. You don't chase a man across three thousand miles of ocean only to suck his blood in an alley.

"It's a dame – damn fine woman, best damn fine woman in this country. Her temper's hotter than hell – first thing she ever did was throw something at me –" he smiled, remembering. "And smart, and brassy, and has a pair that most men would envy."

"And let me guess: you can't get her to bed your lovely self because of her morals."

"Morals be damned," Rhett sighed. "She hasn't got any more than you or I. It's the principle of the thing. She's in love with – or thinks she is – someone else. It would never work out. He's a priss and she's a hellcat. Wouldn't last three weeks."

"But she's in love with him," Angelus clarified, calculating. He could turn Rhett, Rhett would turn his darling Scarlett, and they could add both hellcat and rogue to their collection.

Or he could break Rhett's neck and take him out of his misery. Because a woman like Scarlett, she didn't change her mind. She got her heart set on her prissy solider boy and she wouldn't be content till she had him. Like Drusilla, that way, only probably Scarlett's man could hold her interest longer than Dru's toys could hold hers.

No, killing Rhett would be a mercy, and Angelus's name wasn't feared across three continents because of his tendencies towards providing merciful endings.

"Come with me tonight," he said, in what he hoped was a seductive voice. But not too seductive. If Rhett consented, it would take all the pleasure out of the act.

Rhett drowned the last of his liquor and nodded bleakly. "I was planning to go to the whorehouse, but you'll do nicely," he said, clearly drunk.

Rhett didn't want it rough, and he did want to be on top, to make Angelus take the woman's part. Angelus shuddered with disgust at that. After all these years of playing with Darla, he had few reservations, but he drew the line at that.

He took Rhett brutally, gasping and moaning and scratching him so he bled and Angelus could lap at his blood, which tasted as rich as he had imagined. He left the man in the alley where he'd taken him, bloody and bruised but obviously satisfied.

It had been a good game, but it was time for a new obsession. Darla was sure to have just the thing.


End file.
